Baker Street: My Adventures with Sherley Holmes
by jedimasterathena
Summary: Modern Sherlock Holmes AU where Sherlock is a woman.


BAKER STREET

My Adventures with Sherley Holmes

I came to Baker Street to inquire about a room which I had found on the internet that was for rent. Looking back at the memories I would make whilst living in that room, however, have led me to believe that though I _came_ to Baker Street for the room, I stayed because of the resident who also occupied the flat. Holmes. A Miss Sherley Holmes. I am without a doubt that she is the reason Dr. Long has me recollecting our many adventures in this diary. For, it is indeed Sherley Holmes who has forever changed my life. I do not know if ten or twenty years down the road that original arrangement will still seem to me so agreeable as it does now. Perhaps, had I known at the first signs of the sort of whirlwindish chaos that follows in the wake of those madly brilliant that I would even be seeing Dr. Long, I would not have taken that first step into the flat on Baker Street.

The day was bright and London glistened in the way it always does after a late spring rain. The bell had not finished its chime before a petite woman answered the door. Her heart-shaped face was red in complexion and wrinkled from a good many years, but at the sight of me she sighed in what appeared to be relief.

"Oh, my, you must be here about the flat!"

Before proper introductions could be made, I was whisked inside by the elbow and the woman was prying off my coat.

"You, uh, must be Mrs. Hudson," I managed, awkwardly taking a step to the side so as the woman could hang my coat on a peg.

"Yes, yes that's me. I live here on the first floor." She smiled sweetly and I looked at her arrangements. There were fresh flowers on a well-worn but well-polished table and a tray of tea was set out.

"It's lovely," said I, and then asked if she had any children when I noticed a framed photo of a young woman with the same kind blue eyes.

"Oh, yes!" Mrs. Hudson smiled and handed me a teacup, "My daughter's name is Mary. She's all grown and gone now." Her smile faded a bit and she next said, grumbling slightly to herself, "Sometimes, though it seems Sherley is a daughter to me now, heaven knows she causes the messes and ruckuses of a child."

"Sherley?"

"Yes, well, Sherley leases the other room in the B flat." I made a mental note to be wary of this possible new roommate, but before I could inquire more, Mrs. Hudson spoke again. "And what did you say your name was again, dear?"

"John," I gave her my hand, "John Watson."

"Well, John, shall we have a look upstairs then?" Her eyes flitted to the antique clock on the table, and I figured she wished to hasten the affair. I thought she may have had another prospective coming by after myself.

I followed Mrs. Hudson up the stairs to the B flat of 221. Unlike the apartment below, it was poorly lit and what I could see of the wallpaper was some of the worst kept I had ever seen. Upon spotting some odd crimson splashes on the wall, I thought sardonically to myself that I did not remember there being any mention of blood in the advertisement. Apparently, this must have slipped out under my breath because Mrs. Hudson slowed her ascent and looked nervously at me over her shoulder.

"Here we are," she said, unlocking and pushing open the door.

The first thing I noticed about the space were the books. Their pure number made them overwhelmingly the most obvious feature of the flat. Secondly, I could not help but feel slightly at ill ease by their general disarray. The hundreds of books in the common room of the apartment could never have all fit into the one bookshelf I did spy by the window. Though their owner did seem to find homes for a few on the mantle and for some on the coffee table, the rest were merely strewn about. Many were not even stacked but rather tossed into haphazard piles.

"I do apologize for the mess," said Mrs. Hudson, obviously embarrassed by the state of the place.

"Quite alright," I said, I picked up one of the books closest to my person and, upon turning it over, discovered it to be a copy of _Grey's Anatomy_. Looking to the collection of Edgar Allen Poe that it sat beside, however, set me on edge and I tried not to imagine _both _texts at use in the same venture.

Though I would have denied it at the time, I can now say that I was intrigued by my enigmatic, possible flat mate. I found myself no longer inspecting the flat, but snooping about under the pretext of doing so, all in the hopes that I may discover more about her. In spite of the wealth of clues and information – such as the many wineglasses with just the last drop at the bottom, the box of pinned entomological specimens, or what I both feared and hoped was a human skull – I could piece nothing solidly together. Was she an academic or simply an eccentric?

"The second bedroom is just to the left there," Mrs. Hudson pointed out the door, but did not follow me there. Instead, as I stepped alone into the bedroom, I could hear the crashing of cutlery in the kitchen. I assumed she was trying to tidy.

Unlike the rest of the apartment, the bedroom was bare and…uninteresting. Once I was sure the room was unaffected by vermin or deadly spores, I reentered the common area. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen. Most of the dirty glasses and dishes had been gathered by the sink and she was pulling back the drapes, giving entrance to a light that seemed to be an intrusion upon the shadows of 221 B, Baker Street.

"What do you think?" she asked with a huff.

"Mrs. Hudson," I asked, once again scanning the apartment's many oddities, "How many others have come to look at the flat?"

"Well, you will be the fifth." The old woman said this with a sort of nearly-lost hope. I figured the trails left behind by this Sherley character – the red stains on the wall, the human remains, the obvious clutter – were enough to drive most away. Luckily, I was more intrigued than repulsed and, having recently given up my old job and source of income, in dire need of a place to stay.

"It seems, Mrs. Hudson," said I, a feeling of adventure swelling in my breast, "It seems that if you have so many people inquiring, I will have to make an offer as soon as possible, this afternoon even."

Mrs. Hudson lit up.

Then the front door swung open and slammed shut.

"Mrs. Hudson!" cried a woman's voice, nearly in sing-song.

"That will be her." The older woman's face seemed to collapse.

Pounding footsteps bounded up the stairs and, for the first time, I met Sherley Holmes in person. Well...in a way, anyway.

The woman who burst through the door was a petite Asian woman dressed in a smart pantsuit with long, inky hair, large mantis-eye sunglasses, and a scarf round her head. As she excitedly called to Mrs. Hudson, though, the glasses came off, revealing sly, slate grey eyes. Then the straight ebony hair was thrown to the ground releasing long waves of chocolate brown.

"Mrs. Hudson!" she exclaimed as I stared wide-eyed at the transformation that had happened right before my eyes. "Mrs. Hudson, have you seen the papers this morning?"

"No, Sherl-"

"No need to fret, I've gotten it for you." From beneath her coat, she pulled the day's morning edition and thrust it into the hands of the landlady. "Of _course_ it wasn't the butler. Why does everyone assume it's the butler? No! It was the sister! There were twelve million pounds worth of prize horseflesh in the will. Really takes, 'Mummy, might I have a pony?' to a new pasture, does it not!" Sherely jumped once then began rummaging through the kitchen. Thus far she seemed oblivious to my presence. "We must celebrate! There is wine in the house, yes?"

"Sherley, it's just past noon."

"Ah, even more the reason to drink! I had bet Lestrade that I would have the case cracked by midnight!" She found a bottle of wine, glanced quickly at the label and began to pour, "I've truly outdone myself this time."

I stood beside Mrs. Hudson who tried to get a word in, but nothing seemed to be working. I simply watched the excited Sherley carry on, my observance going unbeknownst.

"Have any new cases come for me?" Sherley asked Mrs. Hudson, before a reply could be made, she continued, "Ah, nevermind, they will still be cleaning up the last one, filing paper work and what not. I'm so glad none of that concerns me, for it does _awfully_ bore me." Sherley took a seat on the sofa. "And the doctor?"

"The doctor?" Mrs. Hudson stuttered.

Sherley waved her wineglass at me. All the while, I had thought she had not cared to notice me. What I had failed to notice, however, was just to the extent she had observed me.

"I don't remember mentioning...How did you know I was a doctor?"

"You've just told me."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Well, this is definitely a style I am not used to writing in, but I think it works well with John's voice. Let's home I am able to keep it that way for what I have in store for him later. Also, I really want this to be a spin-off not of the BBC Sherlock (though I do love it), but a modern, slightly gender-bent version of the story that was originally published by Doyle. More on the way! Leave a review!**


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